


They were a poem they would read again and again.

by DeadDrabble (MisakillDatMonkey)



Series: Two foxes, a given. [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adulting you're doing it kinda ok keep going, Canon Universe, Caretaking, Caring Suna Rintarou, Character Study, EJP Suna Rintarou, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff & Humor at the end, Growing up is a pain, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Love, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-High School, Romance, Self-Doubting Miya Osamu, Trust, supportive boyfriends, tears and snot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28772739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisakillDatMonkey/pseuds/DeadDrabble
Summary: Getting older is a struggle in itself and following the path you set for yourself is sometimes so overwhelming, it feels like all you do is failing.Suna knows Osamu didn't set himself for failure, and he's willing to drive it home as many times as needed if it means he can show Osamu just how much he should believe in himself.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: Two foxes, a given. [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078814
Comments: 12
Kudos: 80
Collections: SunaOsa





	They were a poem they would read again and again.

Osamu rarely cries. He doesn’t have preconceived ideas on crying either, although he’ll be heard calling Atsumu a crybaby the instant his twin dares shed a tear, but that's a standard Miya twins procedure. 

Osamu rarely cries, and nobody is there to call him a crybaby either. Nobody is there to say a word, simply because the only other person in this room is absolutely dumbstruck. 

"I can't do this, Rin."

Incidentally, that person is also the only one who's ever seen Osamu pour his heart out this way. Osamu wishes it could have stayed a memory. 

An embarrassing memory, because if he's not hurting enough already, he's now making someone else worry. Someone he cares too much for and about to make them worry. 

Osamu can’t blame him for not _moving_ when Suna finds him like this. All he wants to do himself is stay slumped on the floor, curl over himself and let it all out until he’s too exhausted to show his ugliest weakness.

“You—” 

Suna is frozen in place in the entrance, the grocery bag he’s holding hanging by the tips of his fingers.

If he was the protagonist of a romantic movie, he wouldn’t be stuck in place. But it’s terribly hard to coordinate his limbs when his heart is shattering. He’s only seen Osamu cry like this once, in the dark of his old little studio back when they were teens, back when they weren’t a thing. 

He remembers the quiet, heartfelt sob, the raw emotion that made Osamu’s voice waver, his lips trembled as he tried to hide the pain. It’s something shocking and heartbreaking enough to paralyze him entirely.

They’re older now. They’re together. 

It’s not about Suna, no matter how much his heart feels like bursting, how much his throat feels tight at the sight, it’s not about him. He needs to do something.

The grocery bag slips out of his grasp, startling them both.

Osamu chokes on a sob as his gray eyes meet Suna’s then he hides his face in his knees, legs pressed against his chest.

A 20 year old with the build of a professional athlete who looks like a kid in shambles. Suna feels like this movie is the worst and his character needs a solid redemption arc after that, but he _finally_ moves.

Finally he drops to the floor, where Osamu is wedged between the couch and the coffee table, dragging Osamu awkwardly into his lap. It’s rushed and clumsy, his left hand gets wet with tears as he pushes back black bangs off his boyfriend’s eyes, his right one damp with snot and saliva as he cups Osamu’s face. He presses it against the front of his tee-shirt, not sparing a single thought to the ruined fabric. 

“Osamu,” he croaks out, finding out his voice is hoarse.

Osamu’s fist clenches into his shirt over Suna’s heart. It’s beating frantically under his touch, and it’s so hot there, caged in his embrace… It makes Osamu break down even more. He slides a little on the floor adjusting in his boyfriend’s embrace, seeking the comfort and affection he craves right now.

Like the time before, Osamu saw this coming and did everything to bury it as deep as he could, hoping it would go away. 

Like that one time, Suna isn’t prepared and barely processes what is happening and lets Osamu cling onto him, too stunned to properly react.

Or so he thinks. Osamu doesn’t think there’s a safer place than where he is right now, Suna’s lips brushing his forehead, his fingers stroking his skin soothingly.

Suna would doubt that if he knew. Osamu is so proud and strong, so brave and reliable… that pathetic excuse of a messy hug can’t be enough so he holds him closer.

He pulls him in until Osamu is sliding between his legs, nesting there like he isn’t a 6foot tall mass of muscle. He’s so pliant in Suna’s arms, the sobbing progressively getting more quiet, replaced by sniffing noises as his shoulders drop and his grip on his boyfriend’s shirt eases.

The last time he listened to these sounds, Suna held Osamu’s hand through the night and the other teenager confessed how scared he was to drop volleyball and pursue his dreams. How worried he was about making the right decisions, how suffocating it felt to choose what seemed such a lonely path. 

_What is it,_ Suna wants to ask when Osamu is breathing almost evenly again despite still hiding his face.

“Sorry, I think I fuckin’ lost it there,” he tells him, trying to scoff, as if he can guess what’s crossing Suna’s mind now that their thoughts are getting louder than the relative silence of the room. “I’m fine,” he adds, voice husky.

Osamu pushes himself off Suna's chest, wiping his runny nose on his forearm. 

His hair might no longer be silver and his features might have sharpened over the last couple of years, Suna is stricken by just how much Osamu hasn’t changed since the day they met when they were fifteen. 

He looks up at him through wet lashes, red-rimmed eyes gleaming, angry pinkish blotches dotting his cheeks. He looks ashamed, Suna realizes when he dismisses the gross mess his boyfriend’s face is to stroke a thumb against his cheekbone and wipe some fresh tears away.

“Yes, you’re fine _now_ ,” Suna repeats, shifting on the floor to readjust his legs around Osamu and face him properly. “But—”

He has a feeling Osamu is going to run off, otherwise. The feeling proves right when his lover squirms too, sitting back on his heels to get further away. Suna leans in, sliding a hand under his chin to hold his face up. It’s damp there too but he doesn’t mind. Osamu tries to avert his gaze, gives up when Suna’s ankles lock behind his ass. He could easily get up and flee, but Suna is relieved he doesn’t.

He’s a lot less relieved to see Osamu’s beautiful gray eyes fill with tears again. 

They don’t spill but Osamu wipes them angrily because he has no other choice than giving up on his pride and moving forward again.

This time, Osamu sits right against Suna, crossing his legs behind his boyfriend too, and he’s the one who initiates the fierce hug that follows.

“Thank you,” Osamu resists the urge to sob, swallowing the nasty lump in his throat with difficulty.

_Thank you for not letting go and sticking with me when I need it. Thank you for not judging. Thank you for being the one I feel like I can tell everything._

Osamu might not have prejudices against boys crying, but he’s not capable of blurting out his feelings openly like his brother. He feels so exposed already. There are some words, though, that he learned to say aloud and that he can repeat when it matters to try and convey all the things that need to be kept quiet.

“I love ya, Rin. I love ya so much.”

Words that encompass so many unspoken thoughts. 

Suna understands what they mean, understands Osamu needs him. He lets himself be kissed, face squeezed between his lover’s hands, eyes glued to the scrunched up nose and massive frown in his direct field of vision.

Damn, it’s a little filthy but he’s the one who holds back Osamu when he tries to pull away, a hand secured on his nape to keep him against him. His lips find his cheek, his temple. Suna even kisses his eye, making his boyfriend blink and whine.

“Gross,” Osamu protests as if he didn’t just try to kiss the air out of him through snot and spit.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“F’ck off, Rin.”

Osamu doesn’t sound as distressed as when Suna found him but the middle blocker’s heart hasn’t returned to its steady peaceful rhythm nonetheless. 

“In a minute,” Suna mumbles against his boyfriend’s temple. “Tell me what’s going on first.”

There’s a long suffering sigh. One that tells Suna this one is going to take time to unpack. Osamu knows he won’t be able to back out of it — finds out he doesn’t really want to either. Maybe there’s a reason he stopped holding back the scary feelings that were overwhelming him when he knew his lover would come home to him that night...

It’s like picking up the phone and calling Atsumu, except it’s easier this way, and Suna always, always makes it seem so _easy,_ so safe.

Still, he offers the way out he knows Suna never asked for.

“I don’t want to ruin your weekend. Our weekend together.”

“Osamu,” Suna sighs.

It’s not like he can hug him _closer_ in the position they’re in but he’s sure Osamu feels it when he shifts so the embrace turns protective—no.— possessive. 

“I came in the middle of your location scouting and exams.”

The weekend isn’t going to be ruined because he has to spend five minutes comforting Osamu. It won’t be ruined if he has to spend an hour doing so. It won’t be ruined if Suna has to spend the week-end holding him. It will never be ruined if Osamu needs him.

“Right,” Osamu breathes out. 

“Which one bothers you, then,” Suna goes on, threading a hand in the hair at the back of Osamu’s head. “The exams or the scouting?”

They’re so, so much softer than they used to be when he was dying them. 

“A bit of both? I—shit. I feel like I’m drowning, and I—” 

Osamu stammers through it, feels stupid for it, his eyes water again. He really needs a break before he spirals down again so he just shuts his mouth and buries his face against Suna’s shoulder.

Suna doesn’t press, he waits. Osamu feels his heart swell in his chest, but it also confirms everything he knew already. He can open up right here and then. It’s the right moment, the right person.

“When ya came in Friday night and ya told me how proud ya were… I felt like—Ya skipped Saturday practice, right?”

“I told you it’s nothing. It’s not practice, it’s additional weight training because our coach wasn’t there anyway. I’m not missing anything. Even if I was, I wanted to be here with you this weekend.”

Suna repeats that patiently, although he explained it over the phone twice during the past two weeks. In fact, as soon as Osamu explained he had some appointments, — finally — to visit a few premises for the restaurant he dreams of opening, Suna said he’d come. He repeated it on Friday night upon his arrival, and again after they disentangled themselves from the bed sheets. He doesn’t mind saying it a fourth time; he never minds repeating things Osamu needs to hear when he’s as thick as his twin brother and gets stuck in his head.

At least Atsumu ends up asking for help and seeks comfort. Osamu suffers in silence until… until he breaks down like that night in Suna’s old little studio flat, or like tonight.

“Because you’ve got it figured out. Ya don’t need—” Osamu sniffs. “Ya seem real confident about comin’ here for me when I need it because you’ve got this. And… and I’m just a fuckin’ mess.”

“Don’t do that,” Suna says, turning his head to press a kiss into the mop of dark hair.

Osamu shifts at that, perks up to look at him in confusion. He’s on the verge of crying again and he seems mad about it.

“You know our two situations don’t compare. You know that I know that you know that, so don’t give me that because you’re going to feel guilty afterward,” Suna explains, not bothering to hide the small gentle smile that plays on his lips when he forms the headache worthy sentence.

Osamu doesn’t frown, he doesn’t look confused.

Suna saw right through him, and suddenly he can’t help the twitch in the corner of his lips when he finds himself mimicking his boyfriend’s smile. It’s wavering and fleeting, clearly, but it’s there for a second and it’s enough for him not to hide again.

“They don’t, it's true, and… it’s not about me feelin’ lame compared to ya or some shit like that,” Osamu admits.

Suna’s face doesn’t change. The smile is gone but his expression is soft, his gaze focused on him. He’d never tell Osamu “I know, I told you so” because that’s not what Osamu needs to hear right now.

“What I mean is… It’s—Rin. It’s a real fuckin’ mess. I knew that, and I’m strugglin’—fuck. I’m strugglin’ so hard here and hearin’ that yesterday… I don’t feel like there’s shit to be proud of because I’m so exhausted all the time, and I don’t even do things right!”

There, he said it.

Suna quietly lets him when Osamu moves away from him to drop on the ground heavily. The athlete just uncrosses his legs to leave room for his boyfriend to be as dramatic as he needs, dropping his hands on Osamu’s bent knees at his sides instead. 

Osamu stares at the ceiling to avoid meeting Suna’s eyes because the admission of his own weakness is hurting his pride no matter how much he trusts him.

“You’re sorely mistaken,” Suna waits before he tells him so, but he has no qualms about being blunt. 

Sugarcoating things never helped the twins. It never will.

Osamu’s eyebrows knit together and he looks back at Suna. His face is a mess and from that low angle, it’s even worse. Suna reaches over the coffee table, fumbling for some tissues. He only finds a pair of abandoned napkins left after yesterday’s takeout and he silently hands them over.

Osamu snatches them begrudgingly. There are perks in dating your longtime best friend, but also serious disadvantages. He won’t back down from seeing Osamu drowning in his own snot _but_ out of comfort Osamu might actually forget he _does not,_ in fact, want Suna to see him drown in snot because that isn’t sexy.

He tries to keep it low and cute when he blows his nose, as if the damage isn’t done and he didn’t use Suna’s tee-shirt as a tissue minutes ago, but mortification settles in his bones nonetheless.

Suna does not bat an eye, if anything he refrains from rolling his eyes for Osamu’s sake and not to embarrass him further but he couldn’t care less about the blasting horn sound that fills the tiny apartment right now. He’s pretty much seen everything with Osamu. The most beautiful things he’s ever had the luck to see and never thought he’d have the chance to experience; as well as a multitude of gross and stupid moments you can only share with someone you decide to love with your entire soul.

“You do things right.”

Timing is key when it comes to romance. Suna patiently awaits for Osamu to stop sounding like the seven trumpets blaring Doomsday to drop that.

Osamu sags on the floor, drops the used napkin and presses the heel of his palms over his eyes hard. He lets go of a heartfelt, loud and frustrated sigh.

“Well it doesn’t feel like it, for fuck’s sake!”

“No, because you’re struggling, and because that’s called the hardships of life, idiot. And when these two things come at you, it feels like you're failing, but you’re not _failing,_ Osamu,” Suna tells him.

Osamu tenses up a little when his boyfriend finally moves to lie next to him on the ground, now that he’s fully conscious of just how messy he looks and what really happened just there. What he let Suna on since he arrived.

But just as the tension tries to worm its way along his shoulders, several knots untie in his stomach. Hardships, uh?

There never really were hardships along Osamu’s way.

The good looking guy, the easy-going twin, the skillful volleyball player… 

The struggling young entrepreneur who has yet to tackle half the things he set up for himself and his dreams while taking awfully complicated classes and dying over a part-time job that barely teaches him a third of the ropes.

He never really failed, though, not back then, and not now. It just dawns on him at the same time Suna finds his spot next to Osamu and he grabs his hand to hold it between their faces.

“But that’s such a fuckin’ painfully long ass road it feels like I’m never gonna see the end of it.”

“Promise me that if you decide to change roads, you won’t try to become a poet. That’s clearly a path you set yourself to fail,” Suna tells him but his eyes are gleaming at Osamu’s words.

He just needed to walk him through it, but it was a given Osamu would get it by himself.

Maybe Suna didn’t have to worry so much about being useless when he found him crying and didn’t know which script to follow…

“Fuck ya, Rin.”

“My point,” Suna tells him, aiming to tease, but he can’t help but sound stupidly fond.

He _is_ proud of that man. So proud of what he’s done so far, and what he keeps doing everyday. That’s why he’s more talkative than he would be with anyone else, and why he scouts closer, until he can nuzzle Osamu’s jaw.

“It’s long and painful but you’re doing so well. If anything, I didn’t expect you to be that tenacious. Your brother was always scary about that, but you’ve always known when to quit,” Suna whispers quietly, playing with their fingers over Osamu’s chest. “I’m glad you’re not quitting when it comes to that.”

Osamu can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, can’t move. He can’t swallow the suffocating lump in his throat.

Damn, Osamu can’t _cry,_ yet he feels the single hot droplet that pricks the corner of his eye when it runs down his temple and gets lost in his hair.

_I’m so proud of you, Osamu! I brought some really disgusting cheap champagne, I know you hate it too but I thought we should celebrate my boyfriend getting his hot businessman licence or whatever!_

How he felt like utter crap, deep down, because he was so insecure, felt like such an impostor when Rin came back to Hyogo from a winning streak to congratulate him over such little accomplishments…

It’s just now that the words hit, that Osamu lets himself be just a little satisfied with what he’s done so far… With the sole fact that he didn’t quit and never, not one second, thought about quitting. Just now that he feels like he can breathe again and feel good about it.

His hand clenches over Suna, right above his heart and he rolls on his side to look back into green almond eyes.

“I’m so in love with ya. I’m—just—So… Fuck, yer right, I can’t be a poet.”

“There’s a fun twitter meme about that,” Suna says, voice wavering.

It would be lying to say Suna is not feeling awfully emotional right now. It doesn’t show as openly as it does on his lover’s face, but just the fact that his voice acts up when he’s so composed usually… Well, Suna can’t be mad.

Suna never _tried_ to look so unbothered, it was just kind of useful, and came naturally. Until he got with Osamu and there was no use in not letting people know what he thinks.

Until Osamu told Suna he was in love with him for the first time, and for the first time Suna felt the excruciating need to shove his feelings back into someone’s face. 

“Not the cryptic memes, Rin, I beg,” Osamu whines but he’s actually starting to laugh.

The odd mix is priceless, because his eyes are still filled with tears and Suna can’t do anything but stare. But admire him. But love him.

“It’s not cryptic, it’s simple. _He was a poem, tiddies,”_ Suna explains as if it makes entire sense.

“What?!” 

“It’s one of the versions. I thought the _tiddies_ version suited you better than the _he wished he could read more_ one,” the athlete explains just as he shamelessly drops Osamu’s hand to grab his pecs instead.

“I really am beggin’ ya, Rin. Stop talking in memes, I can’t even figure out how to set an account, it’s like talking to a crazy person _IRL,”_ Osamu answers, airquoting the acronym with his fingers. “Also let go of my pecs _now_.”

“No. And I’m so proud of you for using _IRL_ right. Fuck, Osamu, I’m so _proud_ of you.”

Suna does let go of his lover’s muscular chest to kiss the air out of him instead. 

He doesn’t care about the memes, about this silly conversation. 

For real, all he wants is for his chest to stop feeling like it’s about to explode and for his heart to stop trying to claw its way out. 

He wants to tell Osamu how good he’s doing, how brilliant he is, how happy it makes Suna to receive a call in the middle of the day and hear Osamu tell him about a struggle he’s overcome when the man doesn’t even realize the steps he’s taking slowly but surely.

He wants Osamu to know just how much he loves him.

Suna found out pretty fast — back when they confessed — that there were ways to express these overwhelming, violent feelings when it wouldn’t show on his face or when he wasn’t ready yet to find the words. That he could show his love by sticking together with his boyfriend through dark times, laughing with him during brighter days…

Holding hands…

A kiss.

 _Making_ love.

Osamu snorts through the kiss because his nose is stuffed and they just won’t part for air. Suna smiles through it, nips at his lips gently when he pulls away to let him breathe.

“I really… I really want you right now,” he says, just as Osamu scrunches and wriggles his nose.

“Yeah, cause yer a crazy person IRL,” Osamu tries to tease to hide his embarrassment.

“Now you used it wrong. I still want you, though,” Suna sighs, pecking him on the lips. “Glass of water and shower first?”

“That would… I’m sorry it’s lame, but that would be great,” his boyfriend concedes, propping himself on his elbows.

Suna scrambles to his feet to get there first and help Osamu up.

His grin is gentle, more present in the wrinkles around his eyes than it is on his lips. Osamu would die for these sharp eyes, especially when they’re so soft and it’s only for him to see.

“I don’t mind. Come along, poet. I’ll take care of you tonight,” Suna says, offering a hand for Osamu to take.

“Stop fuckin’ with me or I’ll talk in rhymes all night, Rin.”

He takes it.

Suna pulls him up. Pulls him right in. Into his arms.

He cocks an eyebrow at him, sharp eyes gleaming challengingly.

“Would love to see that when I make you cry my name. There’s only so little that rhymes with _oh Rin, right there, yes._ You’re going to bite your tongue on that one.”

Osamu blushes hard but he looks nothing like ashamed when he answers:

“Well. Maybe when it comes to what I can do for ya, I’m not a quitter either.”

Suna’s breath catches in his throat.

There wasn’t any right or wrong script to begin with.

They fit and just dance to their own screenplay.

**Author's Note:**

> After writing [Greedy for more than fairly happy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28372200) I couldn't get out of my head Osamu breaking down in front of Suna because he so rarely does so and I wanted to explore that more thoroughly, even if to just have a reason to write how much Suna cares for him and would move moutains for Osamu to get it.
> 
>   
> Thank you for sharing the feels. ♥
> 
> And thank you pancake_surprise and unrequitedangst so much for reading this over when I was doubting for writing out of my comfort zone. You're the best!
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Deaddrabble)  
> Find me on [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/DeaddrabbleRobin)


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